


Four Trees

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Concussions, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, hand wavy medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: "Tell me how many trees you see across the parking lot,” Peter said, fairly sure that no one with that much blood on their head should be driving.Stiles squinted.“Four,” he said decisively.Peter looked at the two trees and nodded.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Tumblr Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636204
Comments: 30
Kudos: 1265
Collections: Peter Stiles Centric





	Four Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you're reading this on a paid subscription app, did you know that you can read it for free on archiveofourown.org? You can search for my username or the story title. I write these for free, to be read for free, and any app developers who profit off the back of that should know that deepthroating the boot of capitalism comes with an increased risk of guillotine related illness. They do not have my permission to host this story.

Stiles stumbled. 

Peter shouldn’t have noticed. The stumble wasn’t putting him in mortal danger. The fight was over. Peter hadn’t kept close track of him during it either; if there was anyone from the pack he trusted in a fight, it was Stiles. Not that he really _trusted_ anyone.

But still- Stiles stumbled. And Peter noticed. 

He looked sharply him, taking in the exhausted slant to his gait and the blood at his hairline. Peter shifted his stance slightly, getting a better look at his face. Stiles’ eyes were slightly unfocused, lines creasing his forehead. 

He stumbled again, and Peter quickly found himself by his side, grabbing his arm before he could fall. 

“Woah- thanks dude,” Stiles said. He leaned heavily on Peter for a moment as he dug around in his pocket for keys, brow furrowing more deeply. 

This close, Peter could see that there was far more blood than he’d realized, hidden under his dark hair. It was suddenly the only thing he could smell. 

“Did you get hit in the head?” he asked, voice tight. 

He watched Stiles begin to nod, only to wince and then lean harder on Peter. 

“Yeah. Just at the end there.” He finally dug his keys out and stared at them for a minute until Peter plucked them out of his hand. 

“First tell me how many trees you see across the parking lot,” he said, fairly sure that no one with that much blood on their head should be driving. 

Stiles squinted. 

“Four,” he said decisively. 

Peter looked at the two trees and nodded. 

“You have a concussion.” 

“Oh,” Stiles said, eyes still a little unfocused. “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

Peter immediately found himself holding Stiles up around the waist as he leaned over the bushes, keeping him from toppling over. 

“Where the fuck is McCall?” he growled. Any Alpha, hell, any regular best friend, should have stuck around after the fight to ensure that their only human pack member was alright. Peter’s gut clenched painfully at the stark reminder of just what a pack this wasn’t. The reminder of exactly how much loyalty they didn’t deserve. 

Stiles teetered heavily as he tried to stand back up, and Peter ended up keeping an arm wrapped securely around his waist in order to keep them both from falling. 

“Scott’s…” he waved a hand as he dismissed the sentence. “Gone. You’re here though.”

“I’m a murderer,” Peter reminded him. “And you’re vulnerable. You should have someone else looking out for you.” 

Stiles scoffed.

“Murderer. Yeah, but like- so am I. So is Scott, even if he won’t admit it. Everyone in the pack’s killed someone. Hey, drive me home.”

Peter stared at him. 

“Please,” Stiles added belatedly. 

“That’s not- nevermind. I’m not driving you home,” Peter said, starting to move them toward the Jeep again. 

“C’mon please? I don’t wanna have to sleep this off in the backseat like last time,” Stiles whined. 

“Like _last-_ Jesus Christ Stiles, how many concussions have you had because of the pack?!” 

Stiles just shrugged. Peter clenched his jaw. 

“I’m not taking you home,” he repeated. “I’m taking you to a hospital. You need a CT scan.” 

“Ugh, no.” 

“Yes.”

“Nnnnnnn,” Stiles said, leaning against the Jeep as Peter unlocked it, “-o.” 

“You’re concussed. I’m not arguing with someone whose brain is jelly,” Peter reminded him, arranging him on the passenger seat and fastening the seat belt. By the time he looked up, Stiles’ eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Peter’s throat tightened, and he hurried around to the other side of the car, determined to get to the hospital quickly. 

One slightly reckless drive later, Peter supported a woozy Stiles into the E.R., somehow finding himself swept along into the triage room. 

“How long has it been since the trauma occurred?” a stern nurse asked, fitting a blood pressure cuff on Stiles’ arm. Peter watched as Stiles just sat silently with a hand over his eyes, and startled when he realized the nurse was asking him. 

“About forty five minutes,” he automatically answered. 

“Trouble walking?”

“Yes, quite a lot. Nausea, vomiting, double vision-” he listed off the symptoms he’d noticed, hoping that they would be enough to get him in more quickly. 

It was.

Despite the fact that that’s what he’d wanted, there was nothing quite as worrying as being rushed back into the ER. Peter continued to be swept along, answering questions from the hospital staff, taking the intake paperwork and finding that he could fill a surprising amount of it.

It wasn’t until he was outside the imaging lab, waiting for Stiles to finish, that he fully realized he didn’t actually belong here. He wasn’t family, wasn’t even a friend really. He was barely a packmate.

Scott should have been doing this. Or Stiles’ father. Or Lydia, or even Malia. What did Peter think he was _doing?_ He should walk away. Find someone else to some instead-

Stiles was wheeled out just as Peter began to pull out his phone. Despite fairly severe hits to his fine motor coordination, Stiles managed to hook a finger in his belt loop as he rolled by, more or less dragging Peter along with him. Peter indignantly protested, but Stiles just smiled for the first time since arriving at the hospital. 

The orderly left as soon as she had carefully deposited Stiles back on the bed, assuring them that the doctor would be back soon and dimming the lights in deference to the hour and Stiles’ head. Stiles still had a hold on Peter’s belt loop; the warmth of his hand was burning into Peter’s hip.

Peter realized that he and Stiles were alone for the first time since the Jeep. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m going to-”

Stiles cut him off, words less clumsy than they’d been in the parking lot, but still not quite up to his normal cutting speed- not quite as armored as usual. 

“Thanks for being here with me.” 

Peter looked at him searchingly, but Stiles’ eyes were closed. 

“My dad’s out of town, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be here with me,” Stiles continued. 

“Why?” Peter said before he could stop himself. “Why not someone else? Stiles, I’m not- you shouldn’t trust me. I’m not just a murderer, I’m selfish. I don’t care about anything outside of what’s mine. I’m the last person you should want with you in the hospital.” 

Stiles opened his eyes, looking up at Peter. 

“What about your pack? Is your pack yours?” 

“I don’t have a pack,” Peter replied automatically, but the words felt false. He looked at Stiles silently. Stiles stared back. 

“Yeah you do. I trust you Peter. You might rifle through my wallet while I’m passed out, but you wouldn’t abandon your pack.” His grip on Peter’s belt loop tightened, pulling him a little closer. Stiles closed his eyes again. “You’ll stay with me.” 

Peter heard confidence in those four words. He wasn’t sure he believed them, but Stiles certainly did. 

Carefully, he unhooked Stiles’ fingers from his belt loop, freeing himself. 

Then, still holding his hand, Peter’s pulled a chair up next to the bed. He heard Stiles’ breathing begin to even out again, less erratic than when he’d passed out in the car. 

He stayed. 


End file.
